Meg Alexander - The Reluctant Bride

Letty still looked troubled. She only half believed her sister, but she promised to talk their mama into allowing India a private interview with his lordship.

“But only if you will give me your word…?”

“Letty, I am not the stuff of martyrs. If all else fails I might agree to an engagement. I could break it later.”

“I suppose so.” Letty gave her a watery smile. “I feel so selfish, dearest, to have refused outright.”

“Never that.” India looked at the clock. “Help me now. Isham is sure to be on time…”

She was right. They had not long to wait. As the clock struck four Isham was announced and shown into the parlour.

As he bowed to her mother India stole a critical look at him. He had exchanged his riding garb for more formal garb, but the perfect tailoring of his plain blue coat served only to emphasise his massive, heavily muscled frame. There was nothing of the dandy about him and she guessed correctly that once dressed he gave his attire no further thought.

His manner was correct, his bow perfection, but his presence shattered the genteel atmosphere in the parlour. India had the impression that a strong wind had blown away all the conventions of polite society.

There was no obvious reason for this. An aristocrat to his fingertips, like many big men he moved with ease and grace. To her relief she was spared his penetrating stare on this occasion.

Instead, he engaged her mother in conversation. “I hope I see you much recovered, ma’am,” he murmured. “I was distressed to learn of your indisposition.”

“It was nothing, my lord.” Mrs Rushford waved aside all mention of her previous ailments. “Merely a headache brought on by this bitter weather. Sir, it is a pleasure to welcome you to Abbot’s Quincey.”

Isham bowed again. “You know this part of the country well?”

“I was born here, and so were my girls at…at the Grange.”

“Ah, yes!” Isham betrayed no trace of embarrassment at this mention of his recently acquired property. “I have just come from there. There is much to be done, I fear. Perhaps you will be good enough to advise me?”

India glanced at her sister. His lordship had found a sure way to her mother’s heart. For the next half-hour she was forced to listen to a discussion about the necessary improvements to the Grange, and the merits of the various workmen in the village.

She glanced down at her hands and found that they were trembling. She hid them at once in the folds of her gown but nothing could remedy the leaden feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had summoned all her courage for the coming interview but it was deserting her fast. Now she longed only to get it over with.

It seemed an age before her mother rose and summoned Letty to her side.

“Will you excuse us, sir?” she said. “India would like to speak to you.”

Isham merely bowed and held the door for them. As it closed he turned and leaned against it. For a panic-stricken moment India felt trapped. Once again she was forced to suffer that long, assessing stare.

“So you are to be the sacrificial lamb?” his lordship drawled at last. “What a fate, my dear!”

It was an unfortunate beginning, but India kept her eyes fixed firmly on the carpet.

“You speak in riddles, sir,” she said. “Won’t you sit down?” Her shaking hands she kept well hidden. It was impossible to think with that large figure looming over her.

Isham sank into a chair. “Demure, Miss Rushford? The role does not suit you. I prefer the termagant who barred my entrance yesterday…”

India longed to tell him that his preference was not of the slightest interest to her, but she refused to be drawn. There was too much at stake. “You wished to speak to me, I believe?”

“Oh, I thought you wished to speak to me.” The lazy eyes roved over her, and she was reminded of Letty’s comment. Now she too felt naked beneath this creature’s gaze. Anger stiffened her resolve. The man was impossible. Well, he should find her a worthy adversary.

“My uncle tells me that you seek a bride,” she said in icy tones. “I understand that you have offered for me.”

“For either of you, Miss Rushford,” he corrected. It was a deliberate insult and India’s rage increased as his mocking voice continued.

“Your sister is the more conventional beauty, of course, though admittedly you have a certain something. In London I remarked it often.”

“In London?” India stared at him. “I think we have not met before…”

“I did not say that we had met. You did not frequent the gaming rooms, but your height alone attracts attention.”

India coloured, which added to her feelings of mortification. She bit her lips upon a hot retort, but he gave her no time to answer him.

“Pray do not feel embarrassed,” the maddening voice continued. “It is not a fault. Often I have observed that tall women have a certain elegance and style which must be the envy of their shorter cousins.”

“You are too kind!” India gritted out. “Have you other views on my appearance, sir? My nose, is perhaps, a little too long, and my mouth too wide?”

He was beside her in an instant. Then, to her horror, a large hand cupped her chin and turned her face to his, “No, no! Don’t underestimate yourself. Those eyes are well enough, and your skin is flawless. As to the hair? Well…not quite in the common way, perhaps…”

India struck his hand away, “I could always wear a wig,” she cried in fury.

“That’s better!” Isham was laughing down at her. “Now you are more yourself. We shall deal well together, my dear, but only if we are honest with each other. I can’t bear missish ways.”

India did not answer him. This interview was not going as she’d planned. He’d teased her into losing her temper and shedding her cool composure.

Now she tried to remember what she had meant to say. “You go too quickly, my lord,” she murmured. “I do not know you.”

“But you know of me, do you not? Now where is the stumbling-block? Is it the gambling, or the opera-dancer?”

It was too much. India rose to her feet and faced him squarely. “Are you trying to be offensive, sir? If so, I must wonder why you are here.”

“I’m here to offer for you,” he grinned. “Will you take me, ma’am? I promise to forget the opera-dancer.”

His tone had changed, but India would not be mollified. Even so, she chose her next words carefully.

“My uncle mentioned certain arrangements, sir. May I hear them from your own lips?”

Isham’s expression hardened. “If you will have it then, here is what I propose.” In a cool tone he listed details of the marriage settlement. “Is that satisfactory?”

“Perfectly, I thank you. And your own requirements?” India was aware that her apparently mercenary attitude had angered him, but she did not care. He himself had proposed this contract. In effect, he was buying her as a man might buy a slave in some Eastern market. She would not pretend that anything other than this settlement would persuade her to accept him.

“I need an heir.” His bluntness now matched her own. “I must also have a hostess, as I intend to enter politics. My wife must be able to receive the highest in the land and entertain them royally.”

India felt a little flicker of interest. “Shall you go with the Whigs or the Tories?”

“With the Whigs. I take it you have no objections?”

“Not in the least.” Secretly India was pleased. The policies of the Whigs were much more to her taste.

“Then we are agreed?” Isham held out his hand.

“Not yet, my lord. I need more time to consider your proposal…”

“Nonsense!” he said roughly. “Had you not made up your mind you would not be here. Pray spare me these attempts at maidenly convention.”